


Seducing the Sitter

by TheMadKatter13



Series: Commissions [6]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Adult John Watson, Alpha John, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe, Anal, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Babysitter Sherlock Holmes, Ballet Dancer Sherlock Holmes, Biting, Come Eating, Come Inflation, Creampie, Dirty Talk, Dubious Consent, First Kiss, First Time, Flirting, Frottage, John and Mary are still married and all but separated, Kissing, Knotting, Large Cock, M/M, Masturbation, Minor Sherlock Holmes/Victor Trevor, Omega Sherlock, Omega Verse, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Possessive Behavior, Possessive John, Scent Marking, Scenting, Size Difference, Teasing, Teen Sherlock, Translation Available, Unconscious Sex, Unconsciousness, Virgin Sherlock, not marking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-16
Updated: 2018-03-16
Packaged: 2019-04-01 04:57:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13990938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMadKatter13/pseuds/TheMadKatter13
Summary: If Mary was going to hire a babysitter to spend less time at home and more time out trying to lure someone new to her bed, then John was too. Even if the one he was luring was the babysitter Mary had hired.





	Seducing the Sitter

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [【授权翻译】情诱小保姆/Seducing the Sitter](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14398149) by [Adeline1895](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adeline1895/pseuds/Adeline1895)



> Commission for my irl friend Saint in that she has paid me in free meals every weekend for the last few months. She may not be online, but I've shown her enough that she got really into ABO and asked that I do a little role reversal, and for my Saint, who is well and truly her name, I could only accept. Plus, I never turn down gratuitous PWP or free food.

John, like any soldier, knew evil didn't have an age; he'd seen too many child soldiers trussed up as living bombs, running into the midst of convoys. And he knew evil didn't have a gender, couldn't forget it, not when he lived every day with the reminder of the machine gun a local omega woman had pulled on a bazaar populated by both locals and foreign soldiers alike. And yet, when John stepped through his front door and laid eyes on the young omega man paused in the hallway between the living room and kitchen, John's baby daughter propped on his waist, his first thought wasn't that a stranger wasn't coming to steal his daughter, wasn't invading his home. His first reaction wasn't an alpha's growl of warning or threat, or protection. His first reaction was understanding and relief, along with curiosity, and trailing that, the typical thread of interest upon seeing a beautiful omega, of smelling their fertile scent.

For the last month, John had been able to scent a new person frequenting his home, his wife, and his daughter. He had assumed that Mary had made a new friend that she'd been bringing 'round, but she hadn't told him about it and so he hadn't asked. Now, that same familiar scent was leading back to the young omega, identifying him as the scent's owner. However, unless Mary had began to consort with what looked like teenagers, then the boy's presence, and the way he held Rosie comfortably and familiarly, made no sense. The only thing that did make sense was John's instant attraction to the omega.

True, the boy's scent was part of it: young, fertile omega, a scent that would make any alpha's head turn with interest. And yet, the scent was absolutely not what held all of John's attention, at least, not at this distance. That honour may have gone to the sharp pale blue eyes pinned on John and gleaming through the messy fringe of chocolate curls that seemed to be calling for fingers to mess them up even further. Or maybe it went to the thin, pale shoulder exposed by the wide-cut neck of the too-loose shirt, nearly slipping off one side all the way to the boy's biceps, all that skin without imperfection and a blank canvas awaiting the imprint of teeth and fingers. Or perhaps it went to the slim Bambi legs, encased in calf-length tight black fabric and feet left bare, long and slim legs perfect for wrapping around a waist. All in all, John was torn between what on the boy deserved his attention first, but before that, Rosie had to be his first priority and he needed to know who the attractive young lad was and why he was holding John's daughter.

"Hello," John said slowly, finally closing the front door behind him and taking off his coat, scarf, and gloves just as slow. The omega looked comfortable in his stance, his stare almost daring John to do or say something, but omegas, especially young ones, tended to spook easily and John had to take his approach easy. "Who might you be?"

Before the boy could open his mouth, the clicking of heels on hardwood and Mary's unremarkable beta scent preceded the appearance of his wife coming down the stairs. For a moment, he was glad of her secondgender, which left her with an inferior sense of smell and therefore an ignorance regarding his faint attraction to the omega. But in the moment he caught sight of her descending the stairs, strappy black heels leading up to a sleek, elegant black dress and topped with expensive, glittering jewellery, his attraction was instantly forgotten in his confusion. Had he had plans with his wife this evening? Was today an occasion of some sort that he'd forgotten?

"Ah, John. Good, you're home," she greeted, voice practically dismissive, rather than upset, indicating a 'no' on the 'forgotten occasion'. He glanced at the omega, who had turned to face them, but hadn't moved any closer, and then John glanced back at Mary as she _click-click-click_ ed down the last few steps. The only thing that seemed to make sense was that the boy was a babysitter, here to watch Rosie while he and Mary went out, and yet, that scent had been in his home consistently for the last month. Which didn't make sense, but there was no reason to keep guessing with himself when his wife was standing in front of him with all the answers.

"Did I forget that we had plans?" he asked curiously, hesitant to hang up his coat, one eyebrow raised.

"Hm? Oh, no. _We_ don't have plans tonight," she said as she stopped next to him and began to pull her own coat and scarf off the wall. She made no move to greet him the way a wife would a husband, her very scent standoffish enough to keep John from attempting to greet her instead. Which was nothing new, unfortunately. "I do, however. And-" She stopped suddenly, turning to look at John as if seeing him for the first time. "Oh, yes, you haven't met yet, have you?" she asked, though John felt the question a tad redundant as he knew that she well knew they hadn't. "John, this is Sherlock. Sherlock, this is my husband, Dr. John Watson."

"Hello, Sherlock," John greeted politely and Sherlock nodded at him, though didn't step any closer. For a brief moment, John wondered if the fact that he was an alpha was putting the young omega off.

"John, I hired Sherlock about a month ago to help me look after Rosie while you're away at work," Mary explained, shrugging on her last garment and then pausing in front of the mirror to make sure her hair was in place. In doing so, she missed John's frown; they had changed their schedules so one of them would always be home with the baby, John in the mornings while Mary worked and then Mary in the evenings while John worked, but for some reason, that seemed to not be working for Mary any longer. Which was ridiculous considering the fact that it was Mary herself who insisted on carrying their child to term, who insisted she wanted this relationship and this child with him. "I suppose it's only by chance you haven't met before." She stood straight and then spun on her heel in a turn that reeked of spite as she pulled the front door back open, letting in a breath of cold air. "I should be home later this evening. Good night."

With a quiet click of the door, Mary was gone as quickly as she'd arrived, and for a moment, John felt himself slip. He dropped his face into one hand and pinched at the bridge of his nose for a moment, trying to massage away the oncoming headache. John had been more than happy to do the right thing, to marry the woman he'd impregnated and been there to take care of the child he'd helped create, but lately, it seemed he was more invested in their daughter than his wife was. A moment later though, the still-new scent of _Sherlock_ reached his nose and John remembered he had an audience. He stood straight, shoulders military-perfect and turned to greet the apparently new, if not temporary, addition to their household.

"Well, Sherlock, it's good to finally meet you at last," John said, trying to keep his voice soft, his posture and his walk un-predatory; he didn't want to alarm Rosie's nanny, after all. "I would say I've heard a lot about you, but I'm afraid that I didn't actually know Mary had hired a nanny." Sherlock just watched him approach, and when John stopped an appropriate distance from the young omega, he held out his hand for Sherlock to scent.

Of the most potent scenting locations on the body, the places where the skin was thinnest and the scent strongest, the inside of the wrist was the least intimate, though that was only in comparison to the neck and the apex of the thighs. Because it was still fairly intimate, it was usually reserved for those one was to spend a great deal of time with in a familiar manner, such as family and significant others, but John was certain that he could certainly apply that logic to his new nanny, the person who was to be looking after his daughter. Either way, Sherlock did not seem to oppose John's offer and simply wrapped his fingers around the back of John's wrist, bending to drag the tip of his nose against the tendons on the inside. Belatedly, John hoped that none of his initial attraction to Sherlock was tainting his scent at all, and yet he wondered what the young omega's reaction would be if it was.

"And you, Dr. Watson," Sherlock finally replied when he was done, cheeks red as he straightened, but there was no way to tell if that was because he'd just scented an older alpha, because he'd scented an alpha who was attracted to him, or because of anything else, really. John simply didn't know him well enough to tell.

"No need to call me doctor at home," John admonished gently with a small smile that Sherlock seemed to return until John turned his hand in Sherlock's grip to grasp the young man's delicate bird-boned wrist in turn and tug it forward, making the boy inhale sharply.

When John bent his head, Sherlock fell almost unnaturally still at the brush of John's nose and scruff against the small section of ( _soft, pale, vulnerable_ ) sensitive skin. John ignored it for a moment, concentrating on committing the boy's scent to memory so that he would never lose it or incorrectly identify it. Sherlock's natural scent was nearly lost among other scents, but not as if he were using blockers to disguise his secondgender. He smelled thickly of ink and parchment, chemicals and metal, chalk and wood. It was such an odd combination for someone his age, and it reminded John a little of his grandfather's library, all of those books and the musk of an area not frequently trespassed, rare things not to be touched or spoiled. John had to nose a little more intently, had to focus, to make out the bright, clean, delicate honey scent of the young, _fertile_ omega. And then he had to very carefully _not react_ to the edge of arousal in the boy's scent.

"Yes, sir," Sherlock acquiesced, sounding breathless as John released his wrist. John smiled at him, and then Rosie squealed and pulled his attention from the tempting omega in front of him.

"And how's my favourite girl?" John asked with a grin, easily pulling his daughter from Sherlock's hip. Rosie shrieked and giggled and babbled and John babbled right back as he walked to the kitchen, intent on getting some food into them.

To his surprise, the remains of a meal were already laid out on the table, including a covered plate for him. He stopped in the doorway, staring down at the meal, trying to remember the last time Mary had actually made dinner and left it set up for him like this.

"I made dinner," Sherlock said, skirting around John and pulling out John's chair, gesturing with a long-fingered hand.

John turned his raised eyebrow on the young man, and Sherlock's cheeks went pink, embarrassment tinting his scent. it was an inappropriately lovely shade on his pale skin. "Sherlock… I'm sure that this is going above and beyond what Mary hired you for. You… _were_ just hired on to care for Rosie, correct?"

"I was," Sherlock conceded, taking a seat at the table.

John followed him, keeping Rosie in his lap as he began to tuck into the food. Which was unnecessarily delicious, to the point that it drew a groan of pleasure from him and another blush from Sherlock. It was a shame that Sherlock would likely be gone by the time John got home more often than not because it seemed like it may be a great deal of fun finding out all the ways he could make the young boy blush. Which only led to him thinking about all the other ways he could turn that pretty, pale skin red, thoughts that he shouldn't be having at the dining room table, much less with his daughter perched on one thigh.

Still, Sherlock must have seen some of John's thoughts on his face, or smelled it in his scent, because his cheeks stained an even deeper red and he stumbled a little on his next words. "B-but it's an- an art I enjoy experimenting with, and Rosie was still sleeping when I finished practice so I decided to see what you had that I could… play with." John couldn't help but pause with his fork halfway to his mouth at the innuendo and when he slid his gaze to Sherlock, the boy's face was already a bright red at the innuendo. "Besides!" he blustered on, sitting straight but squirming in his seat, the edge of arousal in his scent getting sharper, making John smirk. "I thought it was beyond time that we met. I've been here a month but you always got home after I left."

"Well," John drawled, setting his fork down with a slow, easy smile, "if I'd known that _you_ were behind the new scent in my home, I would have left work early sooner."

Sherlock gaped at him and then stood suddenly. "I need to get home," he said as he breezed by, trailing a heady scent of embarrassed-arousal. John got up, keeping Rosie tight to his hip, and followed after him, pausing in the doorway as he watched the boy slide on gloves, a scarf, and a ridiculously long coat. Sherlock was shorter than him for now, but John suspected he would spring up like a weed soon, maybe surpassing John in height but he would certainly keep that slime omega build.

"Would you like a ride?" John asked him, cautious about letting a young omega who looked and smelled like Sherlock did out in the wild alone.

Unexpectedly, Sherlock's gaze dropped to John's crotch and the flush the boy's face spread to the back of his neck under John's amused gaze. He'd honestly forgotten how fun it could be just to flirt with someone. He slid his free hand into his pocket, hiking up his trousers just a little, the fabric dragging just enough over his flaccid cock to increase the languid pace of blood in his veins. Sherlock gasped and his eyes snapped back to John's.

"N-no, I'll take the tube," the adorable omega stuttered out as he buttoned up his coat, hiding that tempting, bare shoulder and those legs from view before those delicate-looking feet were covered by what looked a little like black ballet slippers.

"I'm sure you will," John teased, letting innuendo colour his voice. Sherlock huffed and sputtered and stomped through the front door, slamming it closed behind him with a red face and the scent of his arousal thick in his scent.

"I like him," John said to Rosie after the young omega had gone. "I think we'll keep him. I'm sure your mother won't mind. After all, she already has her own toys."

Rosie shrieked her agreement and waved her arms, nearly catching John in the face, and he cooed back at her as he returned to the kitchen to finish the rest of his meal. He'd have to compliment Sherlock on it the next time he saw him - it really was quite good. He'd also have to ask what kind of practice necessitated clothing like an 80s workout tape throwback. But first, he had to finish eating, clean up, and put Rosie to bed for the night.

Later, when the house was quiet, his daughter sleeping peacefully and his wife still conspicuously absent despite the late hour, John sat up on his knees, put a pillow in front of him, and fucked it with a hand massaging his knot, imagining it was the sweet hole of his pretty little nanny.

* * *

John saw Sherlock infrequently over the passing weeks, for either Mary would already be home and Sherlock gone, or if Mary was absent, Sherlock would thrust Rosie into John's arms the second he got through the door and then depart, clean scent tinged with an edge of embarrassed arousal every time. The only time John got to speak with the boy was in the few minutes it took Sherlock to put on his shoes and coat. But in that time, John discovered that Sherlock went to Eton and hated every second, that he liked maths and science and baking but was bored by English and history, that he had an older brother (a beta a few years older than him who picked him up one day), and that he played the violin (an instrument John had never seen except for the solid black case that sometimes accompanied Sherlock's exit).

The days that John saw Sherlock always went the same way as the first one they'd met: after Sherlock left, John would feed Rosie as he ate, put her to bed, clean up, and then fuck his fist and pillow to the thought of fucking Sherlock as Mary's side of the bed lay empty. It was a comfortable rhythm, and yet, John was still unsatisfied. He _wanted_ , and he could not, nor did he want to, stop wanting. He wanted more: more knowledge, more interaction, more touch, more _taste_. The more he learned about the boy, the less the craving was about Sherlock's body and more about Sherlock himself, but it didn't make the scent of his omega fertility any less sweet, it didn't make John crave the taste of his mouth any less.

It took several months for anything to change between them, for something _new_ to happen, time enough for the air to grow cold and icy with the impending holiday, time enough for the city to fill with a rainbow glow of Christmas lights and for the air filled with age-old tunes. A week before Christmas, John was greeted upon arriving home with the faint strains of an instrument coming from his living room, and for a moment, he thought that he had returned in time to interrupt what he assumed was Sherlock's instrument practice, the boy's scent thick in the air in a way that could only mean he was still cocooned within the warm safety of John's flat. Barely a moment after that, however, the music built, more instruments joining with all the strength of a full orchestra, and John, after divesting himself of his shoes and coat, curiously followed the noise to his living room, only to stop, stunned, at the sight that greeted him.

Rosie was sitting on the floor, captivated, just like her father leaning in the doorway, by the sight of Sherlock dancing ballet across the scant empty space of the living room floor, and suddenly the tight workout pants and loose shirts he always seemed to wear made sense. The strength he effortlessly exuding by standing on the tips of the toes of one foot, the other raised up behind him, curved to meet the backwards arch of his head, was enchanting - a line interrupted only by the plum curve of his arse. He held the pose only for a moment, eyes closed as he gracefully fell into one pose after another to the rhythm of the music. He was in no way deterred by the lack of space, it seemed, for he leapt in place, legs spread wider than John had thought possible. Despite the beauty of the scene before him, it sent a wave of lust through his veins, and fantasies through his mind, where he could test the range of the omega's flexibility, the plumpness of that arse.

The close to the song was a slow crescendo that Sherlock matched with increased intensity, and the display took John's breath away. He felt as though he could barely breathe even as his heart raced in his chest and the music built and built and built and Sherlock's dancing became something _more_ , something almost… furious. It made the burn in John's skin build with the music. With arousal tainting his mind, the young omega's dancing reminded him of sex, the slow, graceful beginning falling victim to frenzy with the build of an orgasm, the _need_ to reach that finish line. Instead of an orgasm, the finale took place in the form of a crash of cymbals, and a dramatic pose complete with an impossible arch of a slender back and the extension of a pale neck that cried for the bite of John's fangs.

In the sudden silence of the room, Rosie screamed her approval with a messy clap of her chubby little hands. Sherlock started to straighten, a small, almost smug smile on his face, until John began to clap too, the sound deeper than his daughter's and echoing in the room. At that, Sherlock jerked upright, eyes wide and hair hanging in a shaggy mess, soaked through with sweat from his practice. His too-large shirt clung to his small form and drew John's eyes with the desire to strip it from him, to let his skin cool and his clothes dry. Or rather, just to strip him completely and soak his skin with another kind of sweat altogether.

"So, this is the practice you mentioned when we first met," John said, straightening from his lean in the doorway. "I had begun to assume you were referencing the violin you sometimes bring with you."

Rosie turned at the sound of his voice and shrieked a greeting, tiny, pudgy fingers reaching up for him. John crouched to sweep her up, tossing her into the air and grinning at her delighted screech. Just a few feet away, Sherlock fidgeted in place, fingers tangling with the hem of his too-large shirt as he shifted from foot to foot, nibbling at his lip instead of answering. His skin was covered in a light sheen of sweat from which his natural honey scent was blooming in excess, the sweetness of it a siren's call in the air, one that John couldn't ignore.

Setting Rosie on his hip and tucking her under the protection of his arm, John approached the boy slowly, wary of him bolting like a nervous fawn. In response to the abundance of Sherlock's scent in the room, John began to pump out his own pheromones, his scent rising to match, to compliment, the omega's, to keep him calm. When Sherlock still did not respond, to both John's question and his scent, John reached his free hand up to press his thumb against Sherlock's bottom lip, easing it from the grip of his teeth. When it was free, he dared to smooth the calloused pad of his thumb across the full bow of that plump bottom lip, smearing it with his scent, with the taste of his skin. Laying a small scent claim that would need to be licked away, even as his scent coated the boy's skin in a way that would need to be scrubbed away.

Pale blue eyes went wide, the breath puffing out across John's hand went unsteady, and nerve-tinted scent gone sharp with that same lick of arousal as the last time they met, undoubtedly matching his own. John smiled down at the omega staring up at him with wide eyes and swiped his rough thumb along the cupid's bow curve of Sherlock's upper lip before stepping away. Sherlock wavered towards him, swaying just a little on his feet before he returned to a full, upright position, tension turning his shoulders ridged and cheeks going red with either arousal or embarrassment. Perhaps both.

"Did you already eat, Sherlock?" John asked as he moved towards the kitchen, feeling the faint edges of hunger prickle at his stomach.

"I fed Rosie an hour ago," Sherlock mumbled, voice following John as he set Rosie in her high chair. John pressed a kiss to her nose, smiling at the giggle she let out when his beard brushed her soft skin, before he stood to examine the contents of the fridge.

"Thank you," John apologized absently as he starting pulling out ingredients. "But did _you_ eat?" he repeated, sliding a skillet onto the stove and flicking the gas on.

"I ate earlier," Sherlock replied evasively from behind him. John dropped butter into the pan and looked over his shoulder at the, frankly, too-thin omega lingering just outside the kitchen.

"Then it sounds like it's time to eat again," John said with firm finality. "Sit, I'll make dinner."

"Dr. Watson-" Sherlock started, voice clearly still coming from the hallway, and John growled, just a little, to cut him off, head still turned to look at the boy.

"Sit," he instructed again, an alpha growl in his voice and alpha red in his eyes. Sherlock shuddered, likely in response to both the rumbling order and John's intense gaze, and moved to obey. The honey-sweet of the young omega's scent spiked with instinctual arousal John's use of his alpha. "Good," he praised in a softer growl, and the young omega shuddered again. "Now, why don't you tell me what you did at school today."

Sherlock was slow to start, but he talked as John cooked, and before John knew it, he was nodding along to a rant about how obvious it was that the science teacher was sleeping with the home ec teacher. Because that was another amazing thing about Sherlock: he noticed _everything_. And he didn't just notice everything, he tied together what he "observed" in ways that seemed so simple but in reality were just impossible in the most wonderful kind of way. Sherlock was a… a genius. The brightest omega John had ever met. The brightest _person_ John had ever met. He was a pearl at the bottom of the sea, glimmering amongst the gloom, small and pale and perfect. And like any treasure seeker, John wanted. And John would get.

By the time their food was plated and set at the table, Sherlock was in full-blown rant mode, scent vibrant and eyes bright with his excitement, hands flying every which way as he spoke. John just smiled and nudged the boy's plate closer, eating silently and watching with amusement as Sherlock absently took bites as he talked. He made no comment on whether or not the taste appealed to him, but John's alpha was satisfied that he was eating what John had prepared for him nonetheless. By the time their plates had been pushed aside, Sherlock's rant had moved into his dissatisfaction with the education system as a whole and John watched him, enamoured and smiling.

John couldn't have said how long he sat and listened to Sherlock for, for Sherlock barely seemed to stop long enough to take a breath, but at the sound of keys in the front door, Sherlock stopped so immediately that the air seemed to ring with the sudden silence. The chair scraped when he stood and the sound of Mary removing her coat in the entryway paused.

"John?" she called, sounding confused. A glance at the clock told him it was far later than he was usually up for, and he understood her hesitance.

"We're in the kitchen," he called back, watching a blush steal over Sherlock's cheeks with pleased eyes.

Mary peeked around the doorway and looked startled at the sight of Sherlock standing awkwardly next to the table, apparently frozen in a burst of sudden nervousness that coloured his scent. "Sherlock? What are you still doing here?"

Sherlock's mouth opened and closed and then he frowned and looked at the table as if he was confused. John took pity on him and replied in his stead.

"I made dinner," John said, gesturing at the stove. "There's enough left, if you're hungry."

Mary frowned, but there was no suspicion on her face or in her sent. "I already ate," she said. "Sherlock, it's late. Why don't you have John drive you home."

With that said, she turned and walked away without even stepping foot into the kitchen to greet her husband or daughter. John didn't mind as much as he had before Sherlock's arrival in his life. In fact, when he thought about it, he couldn't remember the last time they did something in their bed other than sleep. He couldn't remember the last time he kissed his wife. He found that he no longer cared. Mary didn't want him, that much was clear, especially with her recent late nights, date-night clothes, and the suspicious use of scent blockers. If she was pursuing someone else, then John was going to do the same. He had already started.

He stood and Sherlock's eyes shot to him, his nervous clearly making him tense. John smiled softly, aiming to relieve some of that tension. "I'll drive you home, Sherlock. Just give me a moment to put Rosie to bed."

Rosie had been drooping in her high chair for some time, falling asleep only to jerk awake again, over and over, and John had watched it happen amusedly with half an eye, content to leave her in her seat as long as she didn't start getting cranky from it. She gave a small noise of discontent when he pulled her up, but she was passed out before he even laid her in her crib. When he returned to the hallway, he found Sherlock already in his coat with his bag slung over his shoulder, the door ajar and his hand resting on the knob.

"You really don't have to drive me home, Dr. Watson," Sherlock started arguing as soon as John was in sight.

"It's really no problem, Sherlock," replied easily, reaching for his coat. "I'd feel better knowing that you arrived home safely, especially at this time of night."

"Dr. Watson-" Sherlock started, but John cut him off.

"Sherlock," John interrupted, admonishment light in his tone. "How many times must I say that you can call me John?"

Sherlock didn't answer, just drifted closer to John as he pulled his coat on. John watched curiously as Sherlock's eyes darted up the stairs, as if checking for Mary, but his wife had already gone to bed and had been silent since she'd gone up the stairs. Suddenly, he reached out and snagged John's sleeve when John reached into his pocket for his gloves, and John paused.

"Yes, Sherlock?" he asked, turning to face the boy. There was an odd riot of emotions in his scent, and the blush hadn't faded from his face. If anything, it had only gotten darker and it made John frown in puzzlement.

Without warning, Sherlock tugged at John's sleeve, pulling him a little forward, and surged up onto his toes in the same movement, pressing his lips to John's.

John's eyes widened in surprise at the movement, and he couldn't help but do anything but stare into equally wide pale blue eyes. This was a turn he hadn't expected. He'd expected months, at the very least, of slowly drawing the virgin into recognizing and accepting his courtship. Never had he expected that Sherlock would reach out first, would make the first move. Unless one counted John's scent mark earlier in the evening, but still, he hadn't expected any kind of reciprocation, at least not for some time.

Before John could fully comprehend that the omega _he_ was pursuing was _kissing_ him, Sherlock jerked away and then ran out the door before John could follow him. When he stepped out onto the stoop, Sherlock was already at the other end of the block, coat flapping as he literally ran away. John chuckled as he closed the door, and then he went upstairs to shower the day off of him. He kept licking the taste of his omega from his lips as he furiously stripped the length of his cock, flushed dark from the strength of his arousal, to the fantasy of what he might have done if Sherlock hadn't bolted.

* * *

John didn't see Sherlock again until after the New Year. It was clear the boy was still coming to his house, was still looking after his daughter, because his scent refreshed in John's home every time he went to work. It was also clear that he was avoiding John, but John knew it was only a matter of time until they ran into one another again, and John could be so very patient.

It was clear that, when John finally found Sherlock still in his home, that it had not been planned. He'd come home earlier than usual, a quiet, empty clinic releasing him well before the end of his shift, and found Sherlock lying on his stomach in the living room, apparently lecturing an enraptured Rosie on the differences between the English alphabet and another one John didn't recognize. He was more interested in watching the way those long legs, encased in that tight black fabric as always, kicked absentmindedly in the air, in the way that big shirt had ridden up, exposing the smooth curve of the boy's tight arse and a strip of skin above those workout pants that John wanted to just put his tongue to.

Suddenly, Sherlock went stiff, as if he'd finally caught John's scent, and then shot to his feet so quickly that John almost missed the action. But once he was there, he froze, his back to John, head turned just a little towards him. Almost as if he had just realized that there was only one door in the room and John was standing in the way of his escape. Just as quickly, he bent to scoop a surprised Rosie into his arms, holding her oddly against his chest as if keeping a barrier between himself and John when he finally turned around.

"Hello, Sherlock," John said quietly, soft enough that Sherlock took an unconscious step forward to hear better. But he took that step back when John took his own forward step a moment later. "How was your Christmas?" he asked, taking another step forward, calm as you please, as if he wasn't slowly backing Sherlock up towards the wall.

"It- it was g-good," Sherlock stuttered as he tried to maintain the distance between them, a step backwards for every one of John's forward. His wide eyes kept darting away from John though, down to the floor to make sure there was nothing in the way of his retreat, and towards the now-empty doorway as if judging the chances of success should he make a run for it. There was nervous in his scent, and anxiety, but also that sweet edge of arousal. It made John wonder if Sherlock knew how much he was incensing the alpha side of John by running away, that feral part of him excited by the chase. He didn't bother trying to keep it from his scent, and Sherlock's nostrils flared with the first hint of it.

"That's good," John murmured as he continued his advancement. He was so close now, to getting the boy against the wall, to pinning the omega and returning the kiss that hadn't been far from his mind for weeks. "I've been sad to see that our schedules haven't overlapped much recently. I'm glad to see you again."

"You-" Sherlock started and then stopped, swallowing hard. "You are?"

"Of course," John confirmed with a nod. "I've missed our talks. And of course, I was upset that I didn't get a chance to return your..." John trailed lowered his voice, the deep register emerging like a purr, " _gift_."

"My gift?" Sherlock practically squeaked, looking and smelling delightfully confused and aroused, his cheeks colouring. He made a startled sound when his back hit the wall, and John grinned, a little red streaking his vision at his prey having been caught. Sherlock turned wide eyes to him and then held Rosie out in front of him, as if John's daughter could truly stand between them. John took her from the slightly-shaking hands and turned to put her in her playpen before he stepped in close enough to Sherlock that their chests brushed. Sherlock whimpered.

"It was such a lovely, thoughtful gift, but you ran away before I could return it," John murmured, closing the scant distance between them. Sherlock whimpered again when John worked one of his legs between both of the boy's, and John smiled at the faint hardness pressed to his thigh, the thin fabric doing nothing to restrict the boy's erection. John's own burgeoning erection was more restrained by his khakis, but he was sure it was fairly obvious what he was pushing into the boy's hip. Sherlock's eyes somehow went even wider, his hands fisting in John's shirt, but he made no move to push John away, to discourage his advances.

John carefully set both hands on Sherlock's hips, the span of them so large compared to his young omega that his thumbs and middle fingers could almost touch, and chuckled when the boy jumped. "Shhh," he soothed as he dipped his head down, and then he pressed his lips to Sherlock's.

The taste was even better than he remembered, and he slowly settled his full weight into the omega's tense body, keeping him pinned to the wall as John kissed him gently. He was careful to keep it soft and almost chaste, lips closed as the inexperienced omega trembled against him. He was content with it, with the way Sherlock slowly started melting under his body. He was content… until Sherlock opened his mouth and brushed the tip of his tongue against John's lips with a soft sound between kisses, and suddenly John was ravenous for _more_.

He growled as he pressed forward, opening Sherlock's mouth with his tongue and sweeping inside. Sherlock made another one of those small, startled noises, tensing again in John's arms, but John paid him no mind. The taste of his omega was even sweeter against his tongue from inside, and it made him hunger to taste the slick he could already scent was beginning to form as he eagerly took what was offered. For now, he made do with the sweet boy's sweet mouth, kissing him long and hard, barely letting him up to breathe. And the rougher he took Sherlock's mouth, the more the boy began to twitch and shudder under him until he was rutting a full erection against John's thigh.

Slick had began to flow easily, the scent of it and of Sherlock's arousal heavy in the air, the evidence of Sherlock's lust staining John's knee where he had pushed it under the boy's arse as Sherlock had began to grind down, the omega seeking simulation against where he was most needy. John's own erection went mostly ignored as he slowly rocked forward, setting an easy pace for Sherlock to meet him on as he worked on getting his omega off. It took longer than he'd expected for a virgin, but soon enough, Sherlock's pace was getting frantic and little whimpers were spilling from his lips like diamonds as he sought his release. John couldn't help but tighten his grip on the boy's waist, fingers digging in hard enough to leave bruises, a mark of John's possession as he pulled Sherlock into his leg.

Sherlock came with a soft cry, mouth falling open against John's as his orgasm washed through him, turning his body into a stiff line against John. John was careful to keep him steady through it, careful not to aggravate him to the point of oversensitivity. Sherlock came down slow, panting and trembling, sagging against John, trusting him to hold him up. John was still hard, throbbing against Sherlock's hip, but he ignored his own arousal in order to lift one hand from Sherlock's hip to stroke the slightly sweaty black curls.

"I really do love your hair," he murmured, dipping his head down so the words could be breathed against Sherlock's ear. Sherlock trembled against him, more a spasm than anything, and the clothed cock pressed to John's thigh pulsed weakly. "It's gorgeous. You should keep growing it out. Every time I see you, I want to bury my hands in it. Every time I see you in those pants, I want to rip them off you and cover you in bruises instead, so everyone knows you're mine."

A soft whimper met his words, and another throb of the half-hard cock against his leg. "J-John," Sherlock panted, and John rumbled a purr, pleased that Sherlock had used his name without prompting. "What- what about you?"

It was in that moment that Rosie had apparently had enough of being ignored for she let out a screech and John laughed, stepping away. Sherlock wavered after him, hands still curled in John's shirt for a moment before he let go. "I'm fine," John deflected easily, not minding in the least. "Why don't you go shower before you leave? I'm assuming you can change into the trousers of your school uniform for the journey home?"

"Yes," Sherlock replied, voice faint as he seemed to reorient himself. It was clear when he realized exactly what had just happened, for his face went a lovely shade of pink, and he skittered past John and out of the room.

John followed at a less-rushed pace, and he ended up knocking on the bathroom door shortly after it closed. It took a moment, but Sherlock opened it up, slowly, and with his body blocking the way, almost as if he expected John might try to force his way in.

"What?" he snapped, face still pink and tone defensive. John raised an eyebrow, trying not to smile, and Sherlock ducked his head, exposing the blush at the back of his neck. The unmarked back of his neck that, with any luck, would one day bear the scarred imprint of John's teeth. "Yes, Dr. Watson?"

John waited until Sherlock started to fidget in his unsureness, until he was darting looks back up at John through his long eyelashes, to answer. "Please make sure to use the towel on the left," John finally replied. "It's mine."

Sherlock's eyes and mouth opened wide in his shock, and John smiled at him at last as he turned away.

A few minutes after John laid Rosie down for her nap, the shower started up, and John had to pause in the middle of changing his trousers. From the ones stained with Sherlock's arousal and release into something clean. He was still hard, though not at full mast, although that quickly changed at the thought that Sherlock was naked one room away from him, using John's toiletries. That he would dry himself with John's towel, rubbing his alpha scent all over his unclaimed omega skin, laying a claim. He had to take a moment, close his eyes, and breathe. It might have taken him until the bathroom door opened to get himself under control, but he still managed it.

"Dr. Watson?" Sherlock called uncertainly.

John stepped into the hallway, smiling softly at the shy way Sherlock held himself in the bathroom doorway, familiar black material stretched around his hands and replaced by the starched trousers of school uniform. His hair was still damp, the strands only beginning to curl as the water fell away, the excess weight drying away, and John reached forward to brush the wet fringe out of Sherlock's eyes. Sherlock flinched but there was no fear in his scent, so John completed the action before letting his hand drop.

"Did you use my towel?" he couldn't help but ask, even though he could smell a hint of himself all over the boy. it was tempting to dip his head to scent at the stretch of pale neck, but he refrained. Only just.

"Yes," Sherlock breathed out, eyes wide. He had backed himself against the doorframe, but it looked like he was more using it to hold himself up than hitting it as an obstacle in an escape attempt.

"Good," John growled, and then carefully pulled himself back, taking a step away. "I'll walk you to the door."

Like before, Sherlock wavered towards him when he pulled away before standing straight again, like he was forcing his shoulders back. It was adorable. He didn't say anything as he walked down the stairs, and neither did Sherlock, but the nerves were back in his scent and he was likely mute from anxiety. John would have to remedy that.

When they reached the door, John reached for the knob as Sherlock donned his coat and grabbed his bags. Surprisingly, pleasantly, when he was done, he walked around John's side, placing him in position to flee out the door when it opened, but also placing himself between John and a wall. It was very tempting to back him up against the solid surface, kiss him until he came again, but when Sherlock glanced up at him, cheeks red, John just smiled and tipped Sherlock's chin up with the tip of one finger so that he could bend down and press their lips together. It was soft, entirely chaste, but when he pulled away a moment later, Sherlock's breathing had deepened, his cheeks darkened, and his irises had been near-erased by the dilation of his pupils. It was a good look on him.

John pulled the door open slowly, and Sherlock didn't move to slip through the space provided until it was open completely. He looked out towards the empty sidewalk for a minute before shooting John a shy smile, and then he stepped over the threshold. Only then did John speak.

"Oh, and Sherlock?" he said, stopping the boy in his tracks. Sherlock turned to look at him, both curious and a little tense. "You may leave those… pants with me," he continued, holding out a hand.

Sherlock looked at him and then down at the bundle in his hands and then back up at him. "But it's dirty?" His vague protest came out more as a confused question, and John had to fight himself to not break out in a grin.

"Don't worry, I'll wash them when I'm done," he said placatingly.

"'Done'?" Sherlock echoed, brow furrowing, and John couldn't help himself.

"Oh yes," he chuckled. "I plan on stuffing my mouth with the seat of them, so I can taste your slick on my tongue while I fuck my fist, pretending that I'm fucking you," he said baldly. All emotion bleached from Sherlock's face and his eyes went impossibly wide again. It took a moment, but the blush built up steadily, spreading up his neck and across his cheeks.

After a moment, when Sherlock didn't so much as move to blink, John beckoned with the first two fingers of his still-extended hand. Sherlock's eyes fell to them, and that pretty, soft mouth fell open. John wondered if he'd suddenly imagined where else John's fingers might go on him. As soon as he thought that, Sherlock practically flung his ballet bottoms at John and leaped from the steps, his long legs quickly and easily carrying him out of sight.

A hearty laugh bubbled out of John's chest as he closed the door and he had a hard time stopping it, even as he walked into his living room where the room was still ripe with the scent of Sherlock's sex. John just walked to the wall that he'd almost-fucked Sherlock against, pulled his cock from his trousers, and stuffed the sodden black fabric in his mouth to suck Sherlock's sweet slick from as he closed his eyes and reimagined what had happened, pretending he had actually gotten his cock into Sherlock's hole and fucked him silly, knotted him in the open space of John's living room. It wasn't after until he'd come on the wallpaper, massaging his knot through the aftermath of his orgasm, that he realized how poorly thought out his plan had been. With a sigh, he tucked himself away and went to get the cleaning supplies.

Sherlock's pants he would get as much use out of tonight as he could and he'd put them in the wash before he went to sleep. As much as he wanted to keep them for a few days, hopefully he would have the real thing in his mouth sooner rather than later.

* * *

"J-John," Sherlock panted, knuckles bleached white from their tight grip on the back of the sofa.

"Yes, Sherlock?" John drawled, settling back into the cushions.

"P- _please_ ," he panted breath hot against John's temple, naked thighs quivering on either side of John's clothed ones.

After Sherlock had grinded himself to orgasm on John's knee, John hadn't had the opportunity to go further with the boy. Not because Sherlock had begun to rebuff his advances, quite the opposite, in fact, but because there was never a steady schedule for when Mary would return home. Her escapades were sporadic in length, and such unsurety was no environment in which it was safe for him to take his omega apart. It had taken several weeks, full of John acclimating the skittish virgin to his mouth, before Mary finally had to go to an overnight conference, leaving them wonderfully alone.

It had been delicate work, convincing Sherlock out of his familiar ballet clothes. It had taken a good deal of time, a good deal of teasing touches, and a good deal of distracting kisses. But eventually he had Sherlock kneeling naked over his clothed lap on the couch, the scent of his arousal tinting John's vision red. He wasn't going to fuck Sherlock today, not for a long while yet. Or at least, he won't be fucking him with his cock. But his fingers… 

He'd spent the last several minutes doing nothing but tracing a slick, puckered hole with the pad of his middle finger. Even just that had reduced Sherlock into a panting, whimpering, trembling mess. John would have been content to try to make his adorable little virgin come just from that, his arm tight around Sherlock's waist and Sherlock's cock hard against his belly, but Sherlock had pushed back with a quiet whine, and the tip of John's finger had slipped right in. The sound Sherlock had made had been so glorious that John had maintained the pressure until his finger was buried in wet heat and Sherlock's forehead had fallen to John's shoulder as he tried to pull himself together. John had no intention of letting that happen.

Sherlock yelped the first time John pulled his finger back out and pushed it back in, and John shushed him with a smile, wary of waking his daughter sleeping in her pen on the other side of the room. There was a creak of protest from the cushions when Sherlock's fingers tightened in the fabric on either side of John's head, and then the omega was ducking his head to press his nose against John's throat. John could hear him pulling in desperate lungfuls, and although he couldn't be sure if Sherlock was scenting in to calm himself, or because he needed the scent of his alpha from up close, the feral side of John was pleased.

"Do you like that, Sherlock?" John murmured, tightening his hold on the small waist to keep Sherlock locked in place, to keep him from pushing back into the single finger John was slowly fucking him with. It would be… dangerous to let Sherlock take control, to let Sherlock start fucking himself by bouncing in John's lap, grinding on John's interested but ignored cock. If Sherlock got into that kind of motion, like he was fucking himself down on John's cock, then John couldn't be sure that he wouldn't fuck the boy here and now, and he didn't want to do that. Sherlock was a young omega who needed a delicate touch, and John had every intention of giving it to him.

The whine Sherlock let out against his throat, followed by the touch of lips mouthing at his pulse, sorely tested his resolve, however, and he had to fight to keep the finger in Sherlock's arse maintaining its pace, to keep the hand at Sherlock's waist from bruising too deeply. There was no stopping the red from seeping into his vision, however, no matter how hard he tried to stop it. Sherlock hadn't truly replied to John's question though, and when he repeated himself, his voice came out in a growl that made the omega over him shudder. "If you don't answer me, I'll stop," he warned after another moment went by with no answer save for the breathy pants and whines against his neck.

"N-nno! D-don't!" Sherlock stuttered out, finally moving away from John's neck to press placating kisses across his jawline until he reached John's lips. "I like it, John. Please don't stop," he begged, the muscles around John's fingers clenching tight, as if to keep him inside.

"Shh shh shh," John hushed softly, pressing a gentle kiss against Sherlock's eager lips. "It's alright, I won't stop. How could I? I've wanted to be inside you since the moment I saw you. Those ballet clothes of yours are so indecent. Sometimes I imagine I can see the shape of your hole when you bend over, and it makes me want to push you down and eat you out until you can't move anymore. When I catch you practising, when I see all the ways you can bend, I want to fold you in half and fuck you standing in the middle of the room, nothing to support you but me." His omega whimpered, eyes squeezing shut and passage suddenly wetter around John's single finger. "I wanted to make you mine, and you are, aren't you, honeybee?" Sherlock nodded emphatically and it made John smile. "Well, I take care of what's mine, Sherlock. I'll take care of you."

" _John_ ," Sherlock moaned out weakly, hands finally unclenching from the back of the couch so those slim arms could wrap around the back of John's neck instead. It brought the boy even closer to him, pushing their chests together and trapping Sherlock's cock between them. John could feel it leaking through his shirt, making his stomach damp, but not as damp as his jeans over his thighs, the denim made heavy by Sherlock's slick.

Except for the unending trembling, Sherlock was soft against him, pliable, reliant entirely on John for his pleasure - it was time. He carefully worked the finger already inside Sherlock around, straining, searching, and when he finally found it, when he brushed against Sherlock's prostate for the first time, his adorable little virgin nearly screamed as he came.

All in all, as wet as John's shirt became from Sherlock's release, his thighs became positively soaked from the gush of slick. He groaned at the feeling of it, at the sensation of Sherlock trembling in his arms, rocking his erection into John's stomach to prolong his orgasm. Still, he didn't bother trying to get himself off, not yet. That could wait for as long as it took to get Sherlock comfortable, even if that took months. So he simply hugged the boy tight to his chest, keeping Sherlock's weight away from his own erection, rocking him slowly and letting him recover at his own pace. The whole while, Sherlock kept his mouth to John's neck, sending puffs of air and sparks of electricity across the sensitive skin.

It was some time before the looseness began to dissipate from Sherlock's limbs, and John took that as his cue to help avoid the return of that familiar tension. He sat up a little and unwrapped his arms from around the boy's too-thin back only to start stroking one hand down Sherlock's knobby spine and the other he used to tip Sherlock's chin up to steal a kiss. When he was done, Sherlock was panting again, his face red, and his cock once again stiff, pressing against John's sternum.

"So, did you like that?" John asked softly, keeping judgement from his tone and keeping the smoothing of his palm down the too-visible vertebrae gentle and consistent. "Remember, you must tell me the truth, no matter what you think I want to hear."

Sherlock was silent for a moment and then he shook his head and tilted his chin towards his chest, the edges of his blush growing brighter on what of his skin John could see through his hanging fringe. "I- I did," he muttered against John's neck.

"What was that, honeybee?" John asked, pressing for the words to be repeated. He was certain of his own ability to pleasure anyone, but physical pleasure could sometimes get tangled up and lost in mental hangups, and in this he wanted to be sure of Sherlock's feelings.

"'Honeybee'?" Sherlock echoed as if he hadn't heard Sherlock the first time, forehead wrinkling as he avoided John's question.

John slid both hands down Sherlock's back to grab a cheek in each hand and tugged Sherlock up onto his knees and nearly putting his groin right in John's face. Instead, the wet tip of his cock brushed the hollow of John's throat and John's eyes fluttered with the groan that rumbled through his chest. When he opened his eyes again, it was to find Sherlock staring down at him with wide eyes, his own hands fluttering around John's head as if he weren't sure where they should go. "Yes, honeybee. Because you smell like honey and I want to eat you up. Now," he growled, making his throat, and Sherlock's cock, vibrate again, " _answer the question, honeybee_."

"I liked it, Dr. Watson," Sherlock confessed so quickly that it almost came out as one long word.

"Are you telling me the truth, Sherlock?" John continued to rumble, sending vibrations through his throat to Sherlock's cock. Sherlock let out a soft sound and jerked forward, forcing John to tighten his grip on those firm arse cheeks, keeping the boy still.

"Ye-es, Dr. Wa- John," Sherlock said, correcting himself mid-sentence and making John smile up at him. "It- ah… It's something that I would like to do again, I think," he declared, voice gaining confidence as he completed his sentence.

"Is that so?" John teased with a raised eyebrow.

Sherlock sputtered for a moment and then he raised his chin and squared his shoulders and said "In fact, I would like to do it again right now." The command in his voice was ruined with the tremble it came out in, and the bright red of his face.

John laughed, which only made the flush go darker. "Is that so?" John teased again, and the command in Sherlock's shoulders began to melt, filling his scent with anxiety.

"Yes. Please, Dr. Watson," he whispered, his chin falling again, hiding his eyes from John's, his courage fleeing him. For all that John had just spent the last half an hour or so fingering him, Sherlock was still very much a virgin. An unbearably cute one. _John's_ unbearably cute virgin omega.

"Alright then," John purred, the rise of his alpha side tinting his view of the world rose-coloured. It didn't prevent him from sliding his index finger on his other hand into Sherlock, or from making him come three more times before he had to go home, legs wobbling and expression… 'fucked out'. Nor did it stop John from fingering Sherlock every time he saw his boy, sometime fingering him hard and fast with two fingers, sometimes slow and gentle with just one, slowly acclimating his young body to the stretch John's full-grown alpha cock would present. He wanted (he _wanted_ ), but the time was never right.

Still, John was a very, very patient man, and he would always get what was his.

* * *

Sherlock shifted uncomfortably on the Watson's couch as Victor inched even closer. He'd already slung an arm around Sherlock's shoulders to keep him pinned to his side, which wasn't so bad, but the proprietary hand on Sherlock's knee was making him a little comfortable. It reminded him of how Dr. Watson touched him and yet there was too much difference between Dr. Watson's hand and Victor's.

"C'mon, Sherlock," Victor whispered, turning and dipping his head to press a kiss against Sherlock's neck, making him squirm. It was so nice when Dr. Watson did it, why wasn't it as nice when his boyfriend did it? "I don't want to knot you, not here anyway. I just wanna see you. Taste you a little."

Sherlock flushed at the words and shook his head. As smart as Victor was, and as well as he put up with Sherlock, he didn't sound the same as Dr. Watson, his touch didn't feel as safe as the older alpha's. "Rosie is right there," Sherlock argued, though that was hardly the reason. He couldn't count the number of times Dr. Watson had touched him with his daughter in the same room. She was too young to understand and so it didn't really matter. Not that Victor needed to know that.

"Sherls, I doubt she knows what her own foot is, much less a cock," Victor scoffed. Suddenly, he grabbed Sherlock's shoulders and turned Sherlock to face the him. "C'mon babe, I promise I'll be gentle. I just want to know if you taste as good down there as your mouth," Victor wheedled. He was moving closer and Sherlock was already against the arm of the couch without anywhere to go, and he honestly didn't know what to do. Victor was his boyfriend but at the same time, he didn't particularly enjoy him, not like he enjoyed Dr. Watson. "Just… let… me… taste…" Victor murmured, pressing his lips against Sherlock's mouth.

It was by far their first kiss, and as always, it took Sherlock a few moments to relax into it. It always felt so weird, Victor's tongue too wet and his cheeks not bristly at all. He tried so hard to let himself get lost in it that the touch of hand against the skin of his belly made him start, but Victor just kept kissing him, so Sherlock did his best to relax, like Dr. Watson was always telling him to do. But then there was a hand in his leggings, unfamiliars finger curling around his cock, and he whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut.

"Sh, it's okay baby," Victor whispered against his mouth. But then he let go of Sherlock's cock and wormed his hand deeper between Sherlock's trembling thighs. Two fingers pressed against his hole and his legs twitched, wanting to widen to better accept the touch like he did with Dr. Watson, but at the same time, his mind was telling him he needed to keep his legs closed. Either way, as the fingers started pushing into him, he realized he was barely wet, nothing like the soaking state he was always in for Dr. Watson. "C'mon Sherls, ya gotta loosen up. Wanna feel you get wet," Victor purred, his fingers working in and out of Sherlock, making him squirm at the oddly familiar and unfamiliar sensation.

Victor's purr kept going, the sound strange and strangely distant, and it took Sherlock a moment to realize that he wasn't feeling the resonating rumble in his own chest. He forced his eyes open, which he'd apparently been squeezing shut without thinking about it. There was something behind Victor and it took several blinks for the image to resolve, for his mind to read what his eyes are taking in, and when it clicked, his heart stopped even as he started pushing at Victor's chest.

Victor hadn't been purring: _Dr. Watson had been growling_.

Now that he knew that Dr. Watson was there, Sherlock didn't know how he didn't catch his scent before. Because it was suddenly overpowering in the room, a dark, spicy sort of scent. It was thick and potent, the same scent that filled his nose when he was sitting in Dr. Watson's lap with Sherlock's nose to his neck. Although, the darkness was so much darker than ever before, and Sherlock knew that it must have been related to the rise of the alpha, for Dr. Watson's eyes were nearly glowing red and his lips were lifted over his fangs in a silent snarl.

Sherlock stared at the older alpha, his employer, and his body suddenly felt cold all over, especially where Victor's fingers were still wriggling inside him, making him twitch with each lucky brush against his prostate. Victor, however, oblivious to the threat just behind him.

"Stop," Sherlock tried to say, but his throat was try and Victor wasn't paying attention to the weak shoves against his shoulders. "Victor, stop," he gasped, and this time, Victor looked up.

"What?" he snapped, and Sherlock couldn't help but recoil at the faint red in his eyes. Which was nothing compared to the bright red of Dr. Watson's eyes when Sherlock flicked his gaze to the spot over his boyfriend's shoulder. "What're you-" Victor started to say as he turned his head, and then his entire body froze when he caught sight of the other alpha.

"Dr. Watson, please," Sherlock whimpered, and Dr. Watson took a step forward. 

"Dr. Watson, " Victor said, voice urgent, "it's okay I'm Sherlock's boyfriend. I-" Victor pulled away from him so suddenly that it made Sherlock cry out in shock, and that was all it took to throw the frozen scene into action.

Dr. Watson darted forward and grabbed Victor by the throat before tossing him as he turned, Victor's body flying down the hallway towards the front door. Sherlock stared at the hallway in shock, and then Dr. Watson stalked forward, and Sherlock hurriedly stood and followed. Victor was trying to get up in the hallway and Dr. Watson shoved him back down to the ground as he leaned forward and roared in his face.

"GET OUT!" he bellowed, tone furious and bleeding through with alpha command so strong that it made Sherlock want to run for the door too. But that would mean going past a predator whose instincts had been triggered, and Sherlock didn't know what that meant for him.

Victor scrambled away from the infuriated alpha, his socked feet slipping on the hardwood and his hands scrambling at his belongings. It took him three tries to get the front door open, but then he was tumbling down the stairs and out of sight. For a moment, Sherlock feared Dr. Watson would follow him, but the older alpha merely stood in the doorway for a long moment before slamming the door closed.

Sherlock thought that Dr. Watson would immediately turn on him, maybe pin him against the wall and take him, a thought that had his cock throbbing and his thighs getting slick in a way Victor had never been able to make them either in thought or in contact. But Dr. Watson just stood there facing the door with that eerily stiff and still posture, except for the slow, steady breaths moving his shoulders. The entire hallway smelled of the alpha's pheromones, and it was like trying to breath steam - thick and heavy and too much and yet so good, cleansing.

"Am I not enough for you, Sherlock?" Dr. Watson asked suddenly, his voice still low, almost a growl but not as deep as it had been when he'd tossed Victor out a moment ago. "Am I not alpha enough for you? Do I not please you?"

"I- I don't understand," Sherlock stuttered, wringing his hands together, unsure of where to put them, unsure if he should reach out to Dr. Watson. He'd never really thought he'd be in this situation and the place where the information should be stored in his mind was taken up by sheet music.

Dr. Watson turned around slowly and Sherlock took an immediate step back at the alpha's red eyes and bared fangs. "What I mean, Sherlock," Dr. Watson growled as he prowled forward, backing Sherlock down the hallway and into the living room. "Is that I've been courting you for months and you've been accepting it. Every time you let me put my fingers into your sweet little hole, you were giving yourself to me. Every time you put your lips against mine, you were giving yourself to me. Every time you scented my neck while you were coming, you were giving yourself to me."

Sherlock yelped in surprise as something hit the back of his knees and he tumbled backwards, but he only landed on the couch cushions. Dr. Watson kept moving towards him, and now Sherlock was cornered, his heart hammering in his chest and his mind racing with the possibilities of what was to come. Despite his wariness, his cock was fully hard in his leggings and the back of his legs were slick from his arousal.

"And yet, you invite a stranger into my home," Dr. Watson growled, his eyes glowing as he leaned in close and put his hands on Sherlock's waist, making him shiver uncontrollably at the heated touch through his thin shirt. "You let a strange alpha near my daughter. You let an alpha who isn't me into my omega."

The sound that left Sherlock's mouth when he was unexpectedly flipped, his knees landing on the couch cushions and his hands landing on the back, was not human. Fingers dipped into the crack of his arse, brushing the sensitive rim of his hole, and then they gripped and _pulled_. There was a ripping sound and then a breeze over where he was most sensitive as the tattered fabric tickled the backs of his thighs. He'd never had anyone look at him there before, not even Dr. Watson, and now he could feel the alpha's burning gaze, making him shiver as he waited for anything to happen. He felt vulnerable in a way he never had in his life, the most secretive part of his body on display.

"You let some other alpha leave his scent _here_ ," Dr. Watson snarled as he pushed two fingers straight into Sherlock's arse.

Sherlock bit the back of the couch to keep from screaming in surprise, in arousal. It was essentially what Victor had been doing, if a bit rougher and quicker and with thicker fingers, but it made Sherlock's cock pulse and he was instantly trying to grind back into Dr. Watson's hand.

"Are you a slut, Sherlock?" Dr. Watson asked as he fingered Sherlock roughly. He pushed in a third finger for the first time, before Sherlock realized there might be a third finger, and Sherlock groaned at the stretch. He'd never felt so open before, and he tried to fuck himself on his alpha's fingers, trying to take the digits as far into his body as he needed, but it still wasn't enough. "You sound like a slut. You're trying to fuck yourself on just my fingers, just like you were trying to fuck yourself on that boy's fingers. Is that what you do when you're not here? You're shaking that gorgeous arse of yours all over Eton, bending over for any alpha that looks your way?"

His head was shaking in denial before his mouth even managed to spit out a refute. "No! No, Dr. Watson!" Sherlock cried, bucking when the fingers in him brushed his prostate. The alpha wasn't touching any other part of him than the fingers in him, and his skin was craving more contact even as he shuddered from the contact he was already getting. "Please, no! I didn't- I wasn't- I don't do that! I wanted to wait," he tried to explain, the muscles in his stomach quivering from the infrequent and inadequate prostate stimulation.

"Wait for every alpha to make a pass at you?" Dr. Watson shot back, an anger to his voice that made Sherlock quail even as his cock throbbed with need.

"Wait fo- wait for someone I l-love," Sherlock stuttered, fingers digging dents into the back of the couch, his head rolling along the edge of it. It was too much and not enough all at once, and he didn't know when he'd hit his breaking point. It was all so much different than normal and he didn't know what was coming next.

"Do you love that boy then, Sherlock?" his alpha growled. "Is that why you let him stick his fingers in your cunt? Is that why you were gonna let him knot your cunt?"

"N-no," Sherlock gasped, rolling his hips back onto Dr. Watson's fingers. "I wasn't- Please, no. Just you," he managed to confess, the embarrassment of it burning his cheeks. "Just you, J-John."

The fingers in him suddenly fell still and Dr. Watson's other hand landed on Sherlock's arse, forcing him into a stillness that made him want to cry. His alpha bent over his back, his heat burning against Sherlock's spine through his nearly-threadbare shirt, the bristles of his beard prickling Sherlock's ear.

"Is that true, Sherlock?" Dr. Watson rumbled, the purr of it reaching deep into Sherlock and thrumming through him, nearly making him come. "Do you really love me? Do you really want me to knot your pretty little hole!"

"Y-ye-ES!" Sherlock gasped, shuddering under the alpha. "Yes, I love you Dr. Watson. I love you, please!"

Dr. Watson was silent for a moment. "Prove it," he finally said. "If you love me, then you'll let me have you. Do you love me that much?"

His alpha… wanted to _fuck_ him. He'd never so much as pulled his cock out around Sherlock, refused to let Sherlock see or touch it, and now he wanted to put it _inside_ Sherlock. It was almost too much but Sherlock _did_ want Dr. Watson. He'd been dreaming about it for months now, this big older, alpha, who'd shown such unwavering interest in him, in his body and his mind. The war-torn veteran with the thick, musky scent that made Sherlock steal bits of cloth to wank to under his covers when he got home every night. And now he wanted to put his cock _into_ Sherlock. If Sherlock loved him enough.

"I do," Sherlock whispered. "Please, Dr. Watson, I _do_."

"Then let me show you how much I love you, Sherlock," Dr. Watson said, and pulled his fingers out of Sherlock so quickly that he had to muffle his cry into the back of the couch.

"What- what do you need? Please? Anything, Dr. Watson, please, I love you, let me-" Sherlock babbled, twisting his head to look over his shoulder. Dr. Watson was standing directly behind him, his posture solid and immovable, his fangs still extended and his eyes still red. His hands were at the button of his slacks, but when he saw Sherlock looking, he reached towards Sherlock and tangled his fingers in Sherlock's hair, turning his face back into the couch.

"What I need you to do is to be still and quiet and take my cock, Sherlock," Dr. Watson said, his voice a low growl that said the alpha side of himself was still mostly in control. "I need you to let me mark you as mine so no other boy will ever day try to touch you again."

The sound of Dr. Watson's zipper was too-loud in the quiet room, and there were strange sounds coming from Sherlock's vocal cords that he tried to muffle by biting down on the couch cushions. He whimpered when something large and wet and blunt pressed against him, the size seemingly greater than when all three of Dr. Watson's fingers had been in him.

"Don't worry, honeybee. I might be a little big but your body is built to take it. You'll be able to take me," Dr. Watson murmured, both hands stroking the curve of Sherlock's arse. The motion was lifting him a little each time, dragging his hole across the bulbous head of Dr. Watson's cock. "See? I'll show you."

The same two rough hands that had been gently stroking him grabbed on cheek, lifting and spreading, making him feel even more exposed. But not so much as when Dr. Watson's cockhead pressed against his hole again, and his alpha started purring as he started to push inside.

It was somehow so much larger than the man's fingers had been, and Sherlock squeezed his eyes tight shut at the stretch, his synapses firing randomly, some saying that it was painful and others saying it was just new. Sherlock whined and clenched down, unsure what to do, and the hands gripping his arse cheeks tightened, Dr. Watson's cock jerking deeper inside in a quick motion that had Sherlock's eyes rolling back in his head as he was suddenly filled completely. He felt like he was being ripped in half, like he'd been torn right down the middle, and he tried to pull forward to lessen the fullness. The hands on his arse slid to his hips and pulled him backwards until Dr. Watson's pelvis was pressed flush against him and silent tears were leaking down Sherlock's face, his teeth nearly ripping a hole in the sofa.

"Sorry, honeybee," Dr. Watson murmured, bending over Sherlock, pressing his chest flat to Sherlock's back. Sherlock trembled under the larger alpha, his legs shaking and threatening to buckle, even though he was already on his knees with nowhere to go. Hands slid under his shirt and up his chest, cupping over his nipples as if he had breasts, and a bristly beard tickled the side of his face.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock," a low voice purred in his ear, sending shivers down Sherlock's spine, his muscles spasming around the alpha's cock and his own cock throbbing painfully with need. "I didn't mean to push into you so fast. You're so small, and so tight, I didn't want to hurt you, but then you got even tighter and I couldn't stop. Even right now, it's so hard not to move. You feel so good and every time I talk you get so tight around me. I want to fuck until you can't sit without feeling me, I want to keep you on my knot all night."

All it took was the mere thought of it, of his big alpha knotting him, refusing to let him leave, being unable to leave because he was locked in place, to make Sherlock come. Every muscle in his body seized and his eyes closed so tightly that he saw white as he came without a touch. Somehow, it was better than any orgasm he'd ever had - better than any one he'd ever had with his fingers crammed in his hole and his other hand working his cock, better than Dr. Watson doing the same with Sherlock in his lap. It was like the universe was exploding into life in his veins, and he could barely breathe from it.

When Sherlock finally remembered how to work his lungs again, when the electricity started fading from his veins and he remembered how to open his eyes, he found that he was slowly rocking, bouncing between the couch and something hard and warm. The pleasure refused to fade completely from his body, the feeling of it warm and fuzzy, like static through every limb. He managed to look over his shoulder and found Dr. Watson, red-eyed and fangs bared in a victorious grin, fucking into him, bouncing Sherlock on his cock, his slowly burgeoning knot keeping his alpha from pushing all the way into him again.

Sherlock looked at him, and realized that Dr. Watson had felt Sherlock coming on his cock and had started fucking him before Sherlock had even come down from his orgasm. Before Sherlock had even really been conscious again, Dr. Watson had started working Sherlock on his cock. An aftershock of an orgasm rolled through him, making Sherlock shudder and his cock to spurt out a weak second release. Behind him, Dr. Watson growled, his fingers tightening where they'd apparently returned to his waist, and he began to speed up, fucking Sherlock through his orgasm and beyond.

There was a high-pitched sound in the air, wavering as Sherlock rocked bonelessly against Dr. Watson's thrusts, and it took Sherlock a moment to realize that it was him. Dr. Watson was _pounding_ into him now, and Sherlock felt wildly out of control as the alpha's knot pushed at his rim, too large to go in and making him bounce off of it. He realized that it probably wasn't even fully formed yet, wouldn't be unless it was inside him, and yet it felt so massive, so much bigger than his body could take. The idea of it swamped his mind, Dr. Watson's forceful fucking ensuring that Sherlock's body took his knot, locking them together, locking all that come in him.

"Are you thinking dirty thoughts, Sherlock?" Dr. Watson purred behind him, making Sherlock shudder. "I think you are. The way you feel me every time your eyes closed. Like I could make you come again and again and again. Just watching you makes me want to come over and over. My cock almost looks bigger than your waist. It's a wonder you can take it. Can you take my come too? Do you want me to come in you, honeybee? Want me to fill you up with my claim?"

The walls of his arse rippled around the thick length pummeling him and Sherlock whimpered, nodding frantically without daring to release the cushion in his mouth. The baby was still sleeping on the other side of the room and Sherlock couldn't let her wake up yet, not when Dr. Watson still needed to claim him, still needed to fuck him.

"I'm going to fill you up so much, Sherlock. I've been dreaming of it since the first time I saw you. I want to come in you until you're swollen and leaking from it. And I'm going to start now."

For a moment, Sherlock didn't know what that meant, and then the fingers around his hips clamped down vice-tight and began pulling him into thrusts he didn't know could get harder, didn't know could get faster. His alpha's knot was stretching his rim with every thrust, as if Dr. Watson was trying to prepare him for the full insertion, but it almost hurt, like his body couldn't take it. Numbness bloomed from Sherlock's pelvis, and a third orgasm washed over him as Dr. Watson slammed to a stop against him, the full press of his knot trying, unsuccessfully, to push into Sherlock painful enough that Sherlock tried to pull away from it. There was a snarl and teeth, blunt rather than fanged, dug into his shoulder blade, forcing him into trembling stillness as heat flooded his insides, Dr. Watson's throbbing inside of him as Sherlock's own cock throbbed almost painfully.

Panting filled the air, and it took until Sherlock registered the heaving of his chest and the sodden fabric in his mouth to realize that it was him. There were hot breaths across his shoulder, and the dull pain from Dr. Watson's teeth, and when Dr. Watson released the curve of bone from the grip of his jaws and stood straight, Sherlock could feel where he'd bitten with the ache of a persisting throb that made him whimper.

"Sh sh sh," Dr. Watson hushed him, stroking a hand down his back, his cock still a thick, unignorable presence in Sherlock's body. "I know, I didn't get to knot you this time, but Mary won't be home until tomorrow, so we'll have all night to try again. Let's get you into a bed, it'll be more comfortable for you, my little omega."

Sherlock shivered and finally managed to release the couch cushion from his mouth in order to nod. "Okay," he rasped, his voice hoarse and his throat sore. He gingerly straightened, leaning into the heavy, warm weight of his alpha, but a moment later, Dr. Watson started to bend him back over again. He only got as far as a questioning noise before hands hooked on the back of his knees and pulled them up from underneath him, lifting him into the air. He nearly bit his lip through, trying to keep his noises contained when the shift brought his back flat to Dr. Watson's chest, when gravity sent him down further onto his alpha's cock, the still engorged knot a persistent flaring soreness where he was already sore trying, to widen his rim even further.

"Did you really think I was going to let you walk?" Dr. Watson asked, amused. "Did you really think I was going to let you off my cock just yet? No, Sherlock, I'm going to come in you again,, and then I'll go put Rosie down before I come back and make sure you're open enough to knot." A shudder racked Sherlock's body and a whimper out his throat and he had to reach behind him to wrap his hands around the back of Dr. Watson's neck, trying to ground himself. "In fact, I think I'm going to fuck you just like this."

Dr. Watson somehow managed to shift both of Sherlock's legs over to one arm, the display of alpha strength enough to make Sherlock's eyes flutter and his blood sing in arousal that seemed like it'd never end. And then a hand clamped over his mouth as the arm under his knees lifted, and the second it dropped him down again, he understood why. Against Dr. Watson's palm, Sherlock _howled_ at the jab to his sensitive prostate. He whimpered and he cried, but Dr. Watson did it again, lifting and dropping Sherlock on his thick cock until Sherlock was almost blind from the pleasure burning him alive, from the feeling of being dominated by his alpha's cock.

It was over almost as soon as it started. The arm under his knees, trapping Sherlock's legs against Dr. Watson's chest, locked him in place, holding him down on the alpha's cock as the same warm heat as before flooded his insides. He whimpered at the tight hold and the full sensation of being so stuffed and a bristly mouth nuzzled at his neck, scenting under his jaw. The sensation made him shiver and his muscles clenched down on Dr. Watson's cock, and the arm around him got tighter for a minute, teeth closing gently over the curve of his shoulder. Not quite where mating bite needed to be placed, but close enough to make him start shivering in earnest.

"You feel so good, Sherlock. You keep making me come. You're going to be full in no time," Dr. Watson murmured into his skin and Sherlock whimpered again. It seemed like the only sound he knew how to make anymore, his vocal cords shut down for anything that wasn't a biological response. "Let's get you onto a bed."

Just like that, with Sherlock still on his cock, held to Dr. Watson's chest so tight that he couldn't breathe without feeling the muscled chest at his back, without feeling the too-full feeling of his alpha's cock in him, Dr. Watson walked them to the guest room. He let Sherlock down onto the mattress slowly, without pulling out, giving Sherlock time to remember how to put his weight on his knees again. Still, Sherlock fell to his hands as soon as Dr. Watson's arm unwound from around his chest, and then a palm pushed hard between his shoulder blades, shoving his chest down to the bed, leaving his arse raised into the air. Even though they'd already had sex, the classic mounting position made Sherlock blush and bury his face in the duvet, his fingers fisting the soft material next to his head.

"You stay right there, honeybee, just like that," Dr. Watson said, the hand between Sherlock's shoulderblades stroking down his back. "I'm going to go put Rosie to bed, but while I do, I want you to try to loosen yourself up a little more." Two fingers, or maybe thumbs, it was hard to tell when everywhere on Sherlock was so sensitive and overloaded on sensation, touched his rim, tracing the circle of it around the girth of Dr. Watson's cock still inside him, tugging at the muscle to loosen it. "I still need to knot you after all."

Sherlock couldn't answer - he was too afraid that if he opened his mouth he was going to beg for his alpha never to leave him, so he just nodded his head. A high-pitched whine slid through his throat when Dr. Watson pulled out, and Dr. Watson chuckled, squeezing both of Sherlock's cheeks, holding him open. "Yes, Sherlock, stay just like that," he purred, his voice low and hot across the stretch of Sherlock's empty hole. Sherlock could only nod again and wait with baited breath for his alpha to leave. Only when he heard the older man's retreating footsteps did he finally reach behind to touch himself.

He'd fingered himself before, but he'd always had to start with the tight pucker of his unlubed hole. This time when he reached back, he was so loose around his two fingers that he immediately slid in a third, but that still wasn't enough to get that sweet filling sensation back again, and he twisted his wrist to fit four fingers in his arse. His sob nearly choked him when he realized that even his four fingers weren't enough to get the same sensation back as Dr. Watson had given him. He reigned himself back in, only barely, but he needed to do what Dr. Watson wanted him to do so that he could be knotted properly, like a proper omega.

Not wanting to pull his fingers out yet, even if they weren't enough, Sherlock shoved himself up with one trembling arm, intentending only to go to his knees, but the movement had him toppling onto his back. It wasn't the position that Dr. Watson had left him in, the one he'd wanted Sherlock to stay in, but it only took Sherlock a second to realize that he was flexible enough to bend in half, nearly bringing his arse to his face, and from there, it was so incredibly easy to try to start working the point of his hand into himself.

It felt strange, touching himself this way, trying to put his hole hand in himself, but good too. Too good and not enough, all at once. It was slick and hot and so _wet_ , and when he pulled his hand back out, he found it smeared with Dr. Watson's come. He blinked at it for a moment before bringing his fingers to his lips, licking curiously at the tips. He'd never had the chance to taste his alpha's releases before, had never had the chance to see them before now, and he'd never known what to expect.

The musky taste burst over his tongue, blending with the taste of his own slick, and Sherlock gasped. He immediately shoved two fingers into his mouth and sucked then clean, and had just pushed his other two fingers past his eager lips when a shadow fell over him from the doorway. He startled, jerking his fingers from his mouth as he looked up where he froze at the sight of Dr. Watson standing naked in the doorway.

There was a gnarled knot of scar tissue at one shoulder, but that wasn't the knot that held Sherlock's eyes. His alpha was already hard again, as if he hadn't come in Sherlock twice already. His cock was… it was _massive_. It looked larger than Sherlock's forearm, longer and wider, veins prominent against the arousal-darkened flesh. The base where his knot was was still half-swollen, the whole of his cock gleaming from Sherlock's slick. It made Sherlock's hole throb with need just looking at it, even as it sent his heart tripping at the size of it - surely that hadn't just been inside him.

"I might have reprimanded you for not staying how I put you," Dr. Watson murmured as he stepped into the room, "but you look good enough to eat right now."

"Please," Sherlock whispered, his voice cracking as he reached out for his alpha.

Dr. Watson climbed up onto the bed and between Sherlock's legs, and Sherlock expected- well, he wasn't sure what he expected, but it wasn't Dr. Watson's cock finding his hole again and sliding inside as the alpha settled between his legs. Sherlock cried out as he arched up, unprepared to be filled again so quickly, and he immediately slapped a hand over his mouth at the sound. Dr. Watson chuckled and wrapped strong, thick fingers around Sherlock's wrist, pulling his hand away and pinning it above his head as he came to a stop, swollen but unformed knot resting against Sherlock's rim.

"None of that now, honeybee," Dr. Watson tsked, grabbing Sherlock's other wrist to pin it alongside the first. "Rosie's upstairs and you won't wake her up. I want to hear how good you sound when I knot you." His bulk settled over Sherlock, his fading muscles still heavy enough to make his weight feel immovable over Sherlock's thinner, smaller body.

"Okay," Sherlock agreed quickly, nodding. "Okay, yes, please-" he gasped.

Dr. Watson swooped down and took Sherlock's mouth, devouring it hungrily as his hips started to rock gently against Sherlock's. Each shallow thrust sent stars across Sherlock's closed eyes and he could feel the tense ring of his sphincter slowly being coaxed wider. He only registered it for a second before his senses were overwhelmed with the taste of Dr. Watson's mouth, the feel of his beard against Sherlock's sensitive skin, the scent of his pheromones in the air, thick and dominating. Sherlock struggled against the hand pinning his wrists down, wanting to touch, but they only held him down harder. The delicate flesh would bruise, and just the thought of the ring of blues and purples that would bloom around Sherlock's wrists made him moan into Dr. Watson's mouth.

"You like that, Sherlock?" Dr. Watson asked as he pulled away. The weight on Sherlock's wrists increased and he moaned his reply. It might have been his instincts telling him to like it, or it could have just been Dr. Watson. After all, he'd never liked it when Victor did anything like this with him, and yet here he was with his alpha, the man whose daughter he'd been babysitting for months, and he was loving every second of it.

"Of course you love it," Dr. Watson continued, as if Sherlock's wordless reply had spoken volumes to him. And perhaps it had. "You're my sweet little slut, aren't you? You're so hungry for my cock - I should have given it to you months ago. Maybe you never would have tried searching out another alpha."

"Did- didn't," Sherlock's stuttered. Dr. Watson hummed a question and bent to suck at Sherlock's pulse, making Sherlock clench down tight on the cock still rocking slowly into him. He could feel more of the alpha's knot now, the thick ball working steadily to get into him, to lock them together. "Didn't search him out. He asked me out," he rasped, pushing into the hot mouth at his neck, teasing at him. He wondered if Dr. Watson was going to bite him, mark him, bond him, or if he would just keep fucking him every time Sherlock came over, revenge against his wife, making her file for divorce first before he bonded with Sherlock. "Didn't know you were courting me."

"I forgive you, Sherlock," Dr. Watson purred as he finally released Sherlock's neck. His eyes were tinted red and his canines were pointed, but he wasn't fully red-eyed or fanged like he'd been before, which Sherlock didn't know if he should take as a good or a bad sign. "If that boy touches you again, I'll just have to knot you until you smell like me and he won't want to touch you."

" _Yes, please!_ " Sherlock begged, the mere thought of his alpha coming in him so much that Sherlock's own scent was masked was all-too-appealing. "Please, Dr. Watson, please knot me!"

Despite the alpha's slow speed, Sherlock suddenly felt wildly out of control in a way that seemed so unfamiliar to the mindlessness of his heats. At least during those times it was his biology driving him, driving him to needing what he'd never before wanted. Now, the only thing that was driving his craving for his alpha was his his alpha himself.

"You want it that bad?" Dr. Watson asked, unnecessarily, sounding amused. "You really want me to knot you?"

"Yes yes yes yes _yes!_ " Sherlock panted, clenching down hard on the cock on him, straining into the body over him, against the hand at his wrist. 

Dr. Watson laughed softly, the sound vibrating through Sherlock's body, making his shudder and making his cock throb. He didn't want to come again though, not until he'd been knotted, mostly because he wanted to feel that knot _now_.

"Don't think you're quite ready yet, Sherlock," Dr. Watson said, reaching between them, his fingers prodding along his thrusting cock, testing Sherlock's rim. Sherlock could feel every time the tip of his finger caught the muscle, pulled it a little wider, pushing a little more of his knot into Sherlock.

"I am!" Sherlock shot back, needing the knot like he never did during his heats. "Please, I can take it, I can take your knot!"

"Shhh," Dr. Watson hushed. "Alright then. I'm going to knot you and I'm not going to stop." There was a warning to his voice that Sherlock wholeheartedly ignored.

"I don't care, _please_ ," Sherlock repeated fiercely, tugging at the hold on his wrists. To his surprise, they were released, and he used his new-found freedom to wrap his arms around Dr. Watson's neck, pulling his body down into Sherlock's.

"If you insist," Dr. Watson said with a small warm smile. He wrapped his arms tight around Sherlock's back, crossing them under Sherlock's shoulder blades and cupping the curve of both of Sherlock's shoulders with his strong, calloused fingers. "Wrap your legs around my waist." Sherlock quickly obeyed, locking his ankles together. "Are you ready?"

"Oh for goodness sakes," Sherlock scoffed and tugged with both his arms and his legs; his arms to bring that mouth back to his and his legs to get that cock moving inside him again.

Dr. Watson laughed into his mouth but kissed him anyway, and then his hips were slamming hard into Sherlock's, making him shout in surprise at the hard press of the knot against him. But Dr. Watson pulled back immediately and fucked forward again, setting up a pace more akin to when he'd fucked Sherlock on the couch, only without the care of keeping his knot back.

Every thrust _hurt_ , enough so that Sherlock locked his arms and legs in place to keep himself from trying to get away from his alpha's knot. At the same time, he tried to keep his center loose, to better accept the knot, and the way Dr. Watson's tongue was devouring his was going a long way towards helping. Even with the pain that flared with every thrust, his cock was still hard between them, and he redirected some of his concentration into not coming yet - he wanted to feel his alpha's knot in him when he came again.

"You feel so good, Sherlock," Dr. Watson praised directly into Sherlock's ear, his voice steady despite the harsh thrusts jarring Sherlock's smaller body. "Even though I've had you twice, you're still so tighter. You're tighter than anyone I've had before. My sweet, tight little omega." The last bit of praise, the _claim_ came out as more of a growl, and was accompanied by a nip at Sherlock's earlobe that had him turning his head to the side to expose the vulnerable column of his neck. "I can't wait for the day I can sink my teeth into your skin and make you mine permanently."

"Not- not today?" Sherlock gasped, feeling disappointment swoop through his belly.

"It is tempting, honeybee, but not today," Dr. Watson confirmed. He lessened the unexpected blow by giving Sherlock a slow kiss that had Sherlock delving his fingers into the short strands of his ex-military alpha's hair. "But I will be knotting you, have no worry about that."

"Yes, please!" Sherlock begged, throwing his head back and tugging with both arms and legs. The hard thrusts into him, grazing his prostate and making him rock in place, were good, but he knew his alpha's knot would be _better_.

"Hm? I don't think you're ready," Dr. Watson said, his voice teasing as his hips slowed against the pleading pull of Sherlock's octopus limbs.

"I am, I am!" Sherlock cried. He needed it all, needed to fill that knot inside of him, expanding, filling him up. The come inside him already wasn't enough, he needed more, he needed it all, marking him as Dr. Watson's inside and out.

"If you're so sure, then I won't stop," Dr. Watson warned, the fingers curled over Sherlock's tightening.

"Yes- yes! Just- please!" Sherlock said, tugging at the short strands of his alpha's hair. The need in his chest sank, coalescing in his belly, a tight ball of tension, ready to release. He just needed that knot first.

"Alright then," Dr. Watson agreed, nodding.

His hands clamped down over Sherlock's shoulders so hard it almost hurt, but Sherlock ignored it in favour of concentrating on the feel of his alpha pulling almost entirely out of him, pulling Sherlock's breath out with it. And then he started pushing in again, so achingly so that Sherlock groaned and arched up into the unrelenting body with every centimeter of hard cock being pushed into his body. Then came the flaring curve of the knot, and Sherlock's breath stuck. He could do this. He could. His alpha was slowly pushing his hips forward, his knot slowly widening Sherlock's rim, and then all of a sudden, Sherlock couldn't take the stretch anymore. It was too much, it felt like he was going to tear.

"Wait," he gasped, tugging at Dr. Watson's hair. "Wait, alpha, it won't fit. Please-" Dr. Watson cut him off with a kiss and then pulled his hips back, to Sherlock's intense relief. "Thank you. I'm sorry, alpha, thank-"Another kiss cut him off, and then Dr. Watson fucked forward, hard and fast, and the hard ball of his knot _forced_ its way into Sherlock with a faint _pop_. Sherlock _screamed_ into his alpha's mouth at the burning pain of being forced open so quickly and so unexpectedly.

"Shhh, it's alright honeybee," Dr. Watson gentled, rocking inside of him, every gentle pull of his knot from inside Sherlock making him whimper in pain. "It'll be alright, you'll see."

Sherlock's face was wet with tears, his breath harsh in his throat, but Dr. Watson just kissed his tears away, kissed his breath away, and kept rocking inside Sherlock. The legs he'd wrapped around his alpha's waist had seized at the initial hurt, and and since fallen lax. Dr. Watson unwrapped his arms from around Sherlock's body and sat back on his knees, sliding his hands up the back of Sherlock's thighs and pushing his legs up to his chest.

"It's alright, honeybee," Dr. Watson said again, rocking into Sherlock's body as much as his knot would allow him.

The first thrust in the new position brought the tip of his alpha's cock back in contact with Sherlock's prostate and his toes curled at the flood of pleasure warring against the pain his hole was still radiating. There was tension to Dr. Watson's eyebrows, and to the muscles in his stomach, and Sherlock realized the man was about to come. His own orgasm had faded with the surprise and hurt of a knot being forced into him, but his half-hard cock twitched at the realization that he was about to be knotted.

"I'm going to knot you now, Sherlock," Dr. Watson said in a growl, and Sherlock's eyes darted back up to the alpha's face, surprised to see red eyes and long fangs. "I"m going to knot your pretty arse and I'm going to fill you up. Do you want that, honeybee?"

"Yes," Sherlock breathed, eyes wide. There was still pain, it still hurt, but this was the moment he'd been waiting for, maybe for months.

"That's my good little omega," Dr. Watson's purred, and then the tension drained from his face and his body.

His alpha bent over him, pinning Sherlock's knees up by his chest, and closed his mouth over the curve of Sherlock's shoulder as heat started to flood Sherlock and the thickness inside him began to grow.

"Oh," Sherlock gasped, body loose in Dr. Watson's embrace. " _Oh. OH!_ " The knot grew and grew and Sherlock could feel it, or maybe it was the head of his alpha's cock, against his prostate, a constant grinding pressure.

The feeling of being knotted for the first time in his life sent Sherlock's mind reeling, his body suddenly unable to handle the stimulation in the best way. His vision turned white, the pain in his arse written over with extreme pleasure as his orgasm washed over him. All he could do was writhe against the heavy body of his alpha as he was ruined for what felt like an endless time. He couldn't think, not really, only feel, and what he felt was his alpha coming and coming and coming inside of him, filling him full-to-bursting with his release. It kept Sherlock's orgasm going on and on and on until he overloaded, black superseding the white static blanketing his vision and the last thing he remembered was the darkly-satisfied smile on his alpha's face.

* * *

It had been so long since John had knotted an omega that his body went into overdrive, producing heat-levels of semen. His de-virgined little omega was so slim that John could see it making the boy's belly swell, and he licked his lips as his hand smoothed over the bump. One day it would be a true bump, a sign of life, and his omega would bear the mark of his teeth. Just the thought of it, made John shudder and come again, grinding his hips against his unconscious omega's, filling him even more.

"You did so well, honeybee," John praised despite the fact that Sherlock couldn't hear him. "You did so, so well," he murmured, kissing the slack mouth.

As he waited for his knot to go down, he massaged the curve of Sherlock's shoulders where he'd bit down as softly as he could, making sure there was no blood. It wouldn't have done anything if he'd broken skin, except mar the smooth curve. He also cleaned off Sherlock's belly, first by smearing his finger with his omega's come and sucking it off, and then by smearing the boy's come on his own tongue. He'd taste himself when he woke up, but only if John could stop himself from licking it off Sherlock's tongue as soon as he'd put it there.

Nearly half an hour later, longer than normal but not quite so long as during a heat, John's knot finally deflated enough to let him pull out. He did so with a little difficulty, having to pull to get his lessened knot out of the boy, but only so that he could roll Sherlock over onto his side with his head on the pillows so John could spoon up behind him. Sherlock whimpered as his rim was stretched again, but he didn't wake up. Still, John couldn't help but touch to soothe, and he rubbed a hand down Sherlock's back, over his pert arse, and down the back of one thigh to grip behind his knee and pull it up towards Sherlock's chest. Sherlock didn't make a sound, didn't react, and John grinned as he pushed back into the soaking wet hole.

It wasn't as tight as when he'd first pushed into his omega in the living room, but it was still vice-like around his cock, and he had to force the hard bulge of his knot back into the boy. Sherlock whimpered again, but still didn't wake, not even when John started rocking into him again and peppering the back of his shoulders and neck with kisses. He lingered the longest on the back of Sherlock's neck, where his mating mark would be one day, and when another orgasm came over him, and his knot swelled again, it took everything he had not to bite.

There would be time later, after Sherlock finished school and after John and Mary divorced, after John won the rights to Rosie, if Mary was even going to bother contesting them. For now though, he could content himself with the warm hole wrapped tight around cock and knot. He could content himself with palming the false swell of his omega's belly, knowing that there was no child inside, only his come. For know, he could let himself sleep wrapped around and tied to his omega.

There would be so much time later.

FIN

**Author's Note:**

> Like the thing? Reblog the [thing](http://themadkatter13fanfiction.tumblr.com/tagged/Seducing-the-Sitter).


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